


Anything You Need

by toswimamongthestars



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers for 4x01, and for john being a father to be looked at, and for rosie to actually be paid attention to, could be read as john/molly or sherlock/molly i guess, i don't even know if john/molly's a thing but if it is, john grieving and dealing badly with things, molly babysitting, mostly i just wanted molly to be a bigger part of season four, set in the spot post 4x01 and before 4x02, this might be the fic for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:11:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9375992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toswimamongthestars/pseuds/toswimamongthestars
Summary: John's having a rough night and asks Molly to help with baby Rosie. Molly is, as always, a good friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer, some details might be wrong since it's been forever since I saw seasons 1-3.

Molly put the finishing touches on her eyeshadow, checking her face against the girl in the Youtube video’s. It looked pretty good. Not perfect like the girl’s, but good. And not too much; she had learned from experience that trying too hard on the first date usually didn’t go over well. The eyeshadow was simple and pretty, and the lipstick she’d picked out was muted. Her sister had assured her that it made her lips look just like her lips, not any bigger or smaller, which was a victory in lipsticks as far as Molly was concerned. 

She was just reaching for the victorious shade when her phone went off. Her hand changed directions, expecting it to be Luke, letting her know he’d be at her flat soon. 

Instead, the caller ID made her pick it up much faster than she would’ve if it had been Luke. 

“Hello?” she said quickly, using speaker phone so her foundation didn’t smear on the phone. 

A loud sigh came through the speaker. “Oh Molly, thank God you picked up.”

“Everything all right, John?” She turned round on her stool, preemptively pushing away the nice kitten heels she’d planned on wearing for the night. 

“No,” John said shortly. She liked that he didn’t try to lie about it. “Ah...listen, I’m having a bit of a hard night. Is there any chance you could come and help with Rosie?”

She slid her feet into sensible, plain flats. “Of course! I can be there in about fifteen minutes, is that okay?”

“That would be great.” John sounded exhausted. He usually did, these days. “I’m really sorry, I just…”

Molly pulled her coat and scarf on, then grabbed her keys and purse. “No need to explain. I’m going out the door, be there soon.”

“All right.” There was a pause, and she thought he’d hung up. “Molly?”

She locked the door behind her. “Yes, John?”

“Thank you.”

She smiled. “Any time, John.”

Once she was on the road, Molly picked another name from the contacts and listened to the ringing, gritting her teeth. She hated having to make calls like these, but there was no chance she was leaving John alone when he needed her. 

“Molly, hey! Sorry, I’m running a little late--”

“Luke, I’m going to have to cancel,” she blurted, wanting to get it over with. 

“Cancel?” He sounded disappointed. Luke was a fellow mortician from across town. He’d stopped by St. John’s last week and they’d hit it off. 

“Or reschedule. My friend’s a single dad” --That was easier than saying ‘recent widower’, she’d found-- “And something came up, so he needs me to watch his daughter tonight. I’m really sorry.”

There was a bit of blank silence, and Molly chewed on her lip.   
“Okay,” Luke said. “Well--how about next Friday?”

She was watching Rosie that night. “No good, I’ve got a thing.”

“Tuesday afternoon? We could do coffee.”

She could work through lunch and get off an hour early. “That would be good. I’ve got to go now. Call you tomorrow to work the rest out?”

“Sure. Goodnight, Molly.”

“Goodnight, Luke. And thanks.”

She hung up as she pulled into the drive of John’s house. She got in just fine, using the key John had given her last week. 

“John?” she called, closing the door loudly behind her. “I’m here!”

“Molly!” He came out from the kitchen, and Molly’s heart felt for him. John looked more haggard than she had expected, with bags under his eyes, and hair that seemed to get greyer every time she saw him. His clothes were all rumpled like he’d slept in them, and his skin had the blotchy look of someone who had been crying recently. 

He looked dismayed when he actually looked at her. “You look nice. Were you going out? I didn’t mean to pull you away from--”

“It wasn’t a problem,” she told him quickly. “I’ll see him Tuesday.”

“Mm. New boyfriend?” His tone made it clear that he was asking out of politeness, not because he actually cared. Molly didn’t mind; John had a lot going on, and she knew he would remember the answer anyway. 

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “We’ll see. I’ve just met him at the hospital.” She allowed a moment for John to not answer and it to be permissible to change the subject. With a more pointed look, she asked, “Bad day?”

John breathed out, his shoulders falling. As he inhaled to answer, Rosie started to cry. The look that passed over his face was weary, haunted, pleading. Molly flashed him an encouraging smile, then headed upstairs. She found Rosie in the nursery, safely in her crib. After a quick check to make sure her diaper was reasonably fresh, she took Rosie back downstairs and found John on the couch in the living room. 

“When’s the last time she had a bottle?” Molly asked. 

John took longer than normal to recall. “Ah...half an hour ago.”

“She’s good, then.” Molly spread out a blanket on the floor and set Rosie down on her back, scattering a few toys within the baby’s reach to entertain her. Satisfied that Rosie was taken care of for the time being, Molly sat at the other end of the couch from John. Now to take care of him. She was only really asked to mind Rosie, but she knew that John very much needed minding too. 

“How do you know how to do all that?” John asked, waving a hand at the blanket and toys. “Take care of kids?”

“I’m the youngest of three,” Molly said easily. “My sisters both have a couple of kids, and I was head babysitter before I moved to London. It comes in useful sometimes.” According to her sisters, babysitting was good practice for the future. Not that Molly really expected to have a future like that anymore. 

She crossed her arms, wishing she was wearing one of her cozy sweaters. John kept his house on the cool side. “Bad day?” she asked him in just the same tone she’d used earlier. 

John nodded, his eyes on Rosie. “Yes. I’m sorry I asked you over, but...I was worried I might not be good for Rosie right now.”

“Why not?” 

John shifted, appearing to change the subject. “Do you know much about me before Sherlock?” 

Before Sherlock, like Before Christ. It seemed to Molly that John’s life was split into three parts; Before Sherlock, After Sherlock, and After Mary. Though, she supposed that now it was After After Mary. Better to not mention that at all, though, of course. 

“You were an army doctor,” Molly replied. “Weren’t you injured?”

“Something like that. I was shipped back with a limp and PTSD. No one here really understood what it had been like over there. I was all alone.”

Molly understood, in her own way. She didn’t say so, because she knew that being a mortician was very different from being in combat. But both occupations severely limited your circle of friends to people who had similar jobs. There was a reason Molly didn’t have friends that weren’t morticians or otherwise employed on the grislier side of life. 

John sighed. “I didn’t deal with it well. I don’t--I don’t deal with things like that well. Grief. Trauma.” Having seen John after Sherlock’s apparent death, and seeing him now, Molly had to agree. “I tried a lot of things to make it better, but nothing worked. Only thing that helped a little was drinking.” 

Ah. That explained the slight slowness she’d noticed in John. Molly had a pang of sympathy for him, for the wretched look around his eyes.

“It wasn’t really a problem for a while,” he said quietly. “Well, except for when Sherlock--but then Ma--” His face abruptly closed up. It took him a minute to gather himself, to swallow back emotion. He had to stop looking at Rosie, instead train his eyes on a vase on the mantle. Molly carefully said nothing, aware of how fragile John was right now. 

“I’ve been keeping it to just a beer or two when Rosie’s here,” he said at last. “Then tonight I had some bourbon without even thinking, and when I called you it was because I realized I’d left Rosie alone in her crib for an hour and I hadn’t noticed she was crying.” There was some anger twisting John’s mouth, doubtless directed at himself. He glanced at Molly, looking like he almost wanted her to condemn him. Molly refused to. 

“I’m glad you called me,” she told him. “You should go out. Get an hour or two to yourself, you know? That’s what my sisters always needed, just a bit of time to themselves.”

“It’s not just needing time for myself,” he muttered. 

“I know it’s not,” Molly said patiently. “But sometimes it helps. Just...not having to worry about her for a little while. Giving yourself time to think about other things.” She could see balky reluctance on his face. “I’m not saying you should run round to some bars. But just go on a walk. Sit in a park or something. If you like I can take Rosie back to my apartment and you can just sleep easy tonight.”

“No, no, you don’t need to do that.”

“Then you should go have some quiet time. Read a book. Watch a show.”

John chuckled. “I don’t even remember what books I was reading.”

“Then pick up a new one.” Molly got up. “I’m going to make some tea. Want some?”  
“Sure.” 

He followed her into the kitchen even though Molly knew where everything was. She put the kettle on and set up two mugs for them. Then she noticed the half-empty bourbon bottle on the counter and the cluster of beer bottles by the sink. 

“Do I need to get rid of that?” she asked John. 

He avoided her gaze. “...Probably.” 

Without waiting for any further confirmation, she plucked the bottle from the counter and dropped it into the otherwise empty wastebin. The bottle cracked as it hit the bottom, and Molly smiled in grim satisfaction. She quickly dumped the beer bottles in the bin as well, and checked the fridge and the liquor cabinet, throwing away the three varied bottles she found there. John watched it all in pale silence, looking relieved. 

“I was thinking of getting a therapist again,” he said when the kettle was starting to boil. 

Molly poured hot water into their mugs. “That would be a good idea. Would you go back to your old one?”

“I’m not sure. I think  a fresh start might--might be good.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She passed John his mug and took a drink from her own. “How’s work?”

“Good.” John had been taking some hours at a nearby hospital. “Good.”

“Good.” She poked her head into the living room, but Rosie was happily chewing on a rubber giraffe. Then she looked back at John and firmed up her tone. “All right, I’m serious this time. Go upstairs. Read a book. Or get your laptop and google therapists. Just...take a bit of time.”

“I’m always taking a bit of time,” he protested. “You watch Rosie two nights a week and all day some Sundays, and Mrs. Hudson watches her while I work--”

“And that’s  _ fine _ , John. You don’t have to do this all by yourself.”

“But I’m her father, I should be able to take care of her!”

“You can’t take care of her if you can’t take care of yourself,” Molly pointed out. “And right now I’m not sure that you can.” 

That got through to him. He deflated, the defensiveness falling away until it was just John, even more tired than before. He took a long drink of tea. Molly put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I know this is hard,” she whispered. “But you aren’t alone. You’ve got people who care about you who are going to help you no matter what, okay?”

He nodded. 

“Now go have some peace and quiet. I’ve got Rosie. I’ll let you know if I need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

She gave him a little push, and John finally moved. Molly watched as he went back into the living room, retrieved his laptop, and went upstairs. She breathed out. It was the smallest of victories. She wanted John to be with his daughter, but first he needed to be able to simply function. 

A few minutes later Rosie began to fuss, so Molly made another bottle, jostling the baby on her hip while they waited for the milk to warm. She decided to try putting Rosie down to sleep at nine thirty, an hour away from now. She would wake up a few times for more milk, but overall Rosie was good at sleeping for two- or three-hour chunks. Molly let Rosie play on the blanket while she did the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. 

An episode and a half later, Molly gave Rosie another bottle, changed her into a sleep sack, and started trying to lull her into sleep. It took another forty-five minutes, but finally Rosie drifted off for good, her little head falling heavily against Molly’s chest. Molly let her stay where she was, since Molly didn’t have anywhere to go. 

She texted a few friends, scrolled through Facebook. Read some of a book she’d put onto her phone for times just like this. Time slipped by for another hour, and Molly finally realized with heavy eyelids that it was closer to midnight than eleven. 

Leaving Rosie carefully placed on the couch with a pillow between her and the edge, Molly warmed another bottle of milk. Not a moment too soon, as Rosie began to fuss again without Molly’s warmth. This time Molly took her upstairs, rocking her in the nursery with her bottle until Rosie slipped back into sleep. 

She laid Rosie into the crib and pulled the blanket over her legs. The thermostat for the room was by the door, and Molly dialed it up a few degrees. She never slept well in a cool room, and she thought a bit of warmth might help Rosie sleep longer. Then she went to the guest room, where John had been sleeping. 

The master bedroom was only gone into when he needed clothes or something else out of it. Otherwise it stayed closed. Molly knew that Mary’s things were still all over the room, but she didn’t dare go in and try to clean it up. 

John was at the desk, his face on the keyboard, snoring gently. The search bar at the top of the page had a very very long string of ‘sssskkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkgggggggggggggggggggggggg’. 

“John?” she said, patting his shoulder. “John? It’s late. I was thinking I’d go home.”

Blearily, he lifted his head from the keyboard. Peered at her for a moment before fully opening his eyes. 

“Molly? You’re still here?”

“Mm-hmm. But it’s about midnight, I was going to head home.”

“Right, right.” He stood up, scrubbing at his eyes. “Rosie?”

“Sleeping in her crib. She’s just had another bottle. Will probably want another around two or three.”

“Great.” He gave her a grateful, tired smile. “Thank you so much, Molly. I can’t even start to--”

“Don’t worry about it. Did you find anything?”

He glanced at the laptop. “Might have found a new therapist. I want to check her out a little more, but she’s close by.”

“Good. I can always watch Rosie if the times work out.”

“Thanks.” John peered closer at the laptop noticing the time. “Well you should get back home. Get some rest.”

“You too. In a bed, this time, not your chair.” Molly squeezed his shoulder. “Goodnight, John.”

“Night, Molly.”

 

Her car’s heating didn’t kick in until Molly was getting back to her flat, so she was cold as well as tired by the time she got inside. No longer needing to be an encouragement to John, she was just fine feeling sour about being up so late. She refused to resent John for the cancelled date, but she was annoyed at the general universe for it. Hopefully Luke would be understanding. He had been nice about it over the phone at least. 

Molly washed her face of the makeup she’d put on for the date that hadn’t happened, then changed quickly into fuzzy pajamas and crawled under the thick comforter in her bed, just wanting to sleep. Just as she was reaching to turn out the lamp, her phone rang. 

She dropped her face into the sheets, groaning. She didn’t even need to look at the ID to know who it was; she had given him his own personal ringtone so she had fair warning every time he wanted her for something. 

If she didn’t pick up, he would just call back. Or show up at her door in twenty minutes, which had happened before. Better to just answer the bloody thing. 

She didn’t even bother with a greeting. It was now almost one in the morning. He could observe that the call had been picked up and deduct what her silence meant. 

“It’s very late,” Sherlock said flatly. “I know that.”

“And I am very tired, Sherlock.” Her voice was muffled by the sheets. 

“Are you being smothered?”

“I’m trying to  _ sleep _ .” She lifted her head to glare at the phone. “What do you want?”

A long, long stretch of silence. Molly spent it trying to find the patience she had left at John’s house. At last, Sherlock spoke. 

“Is he all right?”

The patience was all gone. She didn’t even want to ask how he knew that she’d been at John’s. “Ask him yourself.”

“You’re the one who said he doesn’t want to see me.”

She bit her lip to keep from cursing at him. “His wife is dead, he hates his best friend, he’s trying to take care of his daughter when he doesn’t really know how, and he’s dealing with depression. Use your  _ brilliant  _ skills to work out how he is.”

Another silence.

“...Thank you for taking care of him.”

Tears pricked at Molly’s eyes. “I’m not doing it for you.”

“I know. Thank you anyway.”

She spoke quickly in case he was hanging up. “Just because he says he never wants to see you again doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I know.”

“Of course you know. Just...even if he punches you when he sees you, even if he’s angry, he still needs you. You’re his friend.”

“I killed his wife.”

Molly swallowed back a lump in her throat, and didn’t bother arguing about semantics. “I know. Think about it, okay?”

“I will.”

She laid back onto the pillow. “Right. I’m going to go to sleep now.”

“Goodnight, Molly.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”


End file.
